


Lost in Your Own Wonderland

by ignited



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crack, Crossdressing, Dreams, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-02
Updated: 2008-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One bad slice of pizza and a handful of <i>Alice In Wonderland</i> viewings lead to Jared coming face to face with the Queen and his roses problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Your Own Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt by [](http://memphis86.livejournal.com/profile)[**memphis86**](http://memphis86.livejournal.com/) , on the very merry occasion of her unbirthday. I hope this makes you laugh! Many thanks to [](http://regala-electra.livejournal.com/profile)[**regala_electra**](http://regala-electra.livejournal.com/) for additional writing assistance and her sparkly beta magic.

There's a high chance it's all a metaphor for _something_ ; Jared figures he's not one to delve too deep into symbolism when he snorts beer up his nose at the sight of a bartender stroking the tap handle.

It might be a metaphor. What's important is that the anchovies did it.

*

He steps into the labyrinth, towering walls of green leaves and curling brown branches making the hair on his arms stand at end. It's cold, dark, and _creepy_ , plus he's wearing very little clothing.

Well, what he _is_ wearing looks like something out of a _Gossip Girl_ episode but this white headband definitely brings out the color of his eyes.

Jared's not sure about the heels, though. He kind of wants to do a Godzilla walk in them.

His wobbly balance and the surprise guards take care of that problem for him; they come out of the shadows, grab his elbows and escort him through the twisting maze. The guards are playing cards, flat with pointy heads and cranky expressions. It's hard going with the uneven ground beneath his feet, dark vines and leaves scattered around that make him trip several times.

But soon enough, they arrive and barely thirty seconds pass before Jared gets splattered in the face with red paint.

"They're not red enough," a voice booms flatly, like it's coming out of a PA system, calling for a clean-up on aisle five. Jared scans the clearing that they're standing in, seeing the playing card guards, people, and animals armed with buckets of paint and thick paintbrushes.

Over on one side, there's a balding man with a top hat jauntily placed on his head, getting yelled at from a fuzzy and gruff caterpillar on his shoulder. Kripke, the Mad Hatter and Jim, the caterpillar. Which leaves Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee—two guys in matching outfits, arguing as they paint the roses—to be A.J. and Travis.

Jared doesn't even want to _know_ who the Cheshire Cat is.

However, he does want to know why the white roses are dripping with syrupy red paint. It looks like a cross between an art exhibit and a horror movie, the effect helped by the way everyone's screaming at each other in their struggle to apply another coat of paint. It's probably made out of corn syrup but for once Jared isn't tempted to go over and try to lick it. For now.

"Five coats, your Majesty," says Kim the March Hare. It isn't hard to recognize him since he still looks short and grumpy, giving Jared an exasperated look. "Another guest?"

"I can still see it poking through! Fix it!" comes the booming voice. Jared tries stretching as he clomps towards the source on his high heels, the guards pushing him forward.

In the middle of the courtyard, a wide and open space of dark green grass and manicured bushes twisting into animals, is a throne. And on that throne, legs wide open and posture slouched, sits Jensen.

He's taking a pull of a beer, the other hand lazily gripping a scepter. Rosy cheeked and eyes half open, Jensen looks like he's had a few beers, tired smile that doesn't show in his eyes. The fact that he isn't genuinely smiling doesn't throw Jared—because it's _Jensen_ and he's drunk—but the sight of Jensen wearing a dark skirt, corset, and crown does. The skirt's taut around Jensen's knees as he sits, wide open, making Jared think of kilts. Kilts would mean that there's nothing underneath that stretch of fabric. Any other thought fizzles out when it comes to Jensen's bare and broad shoulders, pulled back in his throne.

He looks haughty and completely ridiculous—including the tiny little crown at an angle on Jensen's head, almost like a barrette—but the guards are too menacing for Jared to let himself laugh.

But he does. Because he's only human.

(God, he hopes he stays human because this dream's already seriously fucked as it is.)

Unfortunately, the guards don't seem to find it funny as their lances nearly tear into Jared's fashionable and modest dress. Jensen raises his scepter and gestures to himself, motioning to the guards to bring Jared forward.

"This is funny to you?" Jensen asks, scowling, tiny little crown and annoyed expression sending Jared into a snorting laugh. "My roses aren't red!"

Jared wipes his nose, trying to ignore his corseted friend and stare down at his enormous heels. For a second they look sparkly, which is the wrong story. "Why'd they need to be red anyway?"

A sigh comes from Jensen, air of huffy and long suffering. It reminds Jared of his sister being exasperated whenever he didn't understand a problem she faced. This being when she was twelve.

Jensen is not twelve. Jensen is a thirty year old man wearing a corset that has not been fully laced, faint chest hair barely peeking over the edge.

"They messed up their shipment. Shipped the seeds to the wrong kingdom. And we have a summit tomorrow. That doesn't mean I have to suffer white roses! They're so… _plain_."

Jared thinks he's being very good for not screaming at the complete ridiculousness of what's going on. The entire courtyard looks eerie and strange, talking animals and bushes shaped into objects and people, a real _Edward Scissorhands_ look. Instead of trying to hit his own forehead into becoming awake, Jared focuses on key points. Like the dip of Jensen's bare collarbone. Oh, and words. Words are key, too.

"Summit?"

"For the representatives from other fantasy kingdoms and lands. Halloween Town, Atlantica, Neverland, Agrabah…"

That confirms this is the Disney version of what is definitely _Alice In Wonderland_. On second thought, it _has_ to be, seeing as Jared's never actually read the original _Alice In Wonderland_ story.

Jared shrugs. His hands fumble, discovering that the dress has no pockets. "But they're just flowers. I think they'd be more interested in you."

"Jared, right?" Jensen asks, waving off one of the card guards who leans in to whisper. "These roses are important. They need to be red for appearances sake. It's—it's good luck."

Jared opens his mouth to speak, but he sees a flash of something really fucking weird behind Jensen's throne, peeking between the tall walls of greenery. A walrus moves past from right to left, a trucker cap on his head.

"Where's my oysters? Keep marching!" the walrus yells, voice unmistakably Chad and a Chad that's very drunk off his ass as he moves out of sight, a line of a few oysters hopping along on tiny feet behind him.

Jared stares, still open mouthed as Jensen rolls his eyes.

"You get used to that after a while," Jensen supplies. He straightens, mood immediately lighter as he stands, dropping the beer bottle. Stepping down off the throne steps, Jensen's head is held high, posture ramrod straight, and this really should not make Jared think of their manly viewing of _300_ with Tom and Mike at Jared's house.

And how Jared usually has to take a private break to jerk off because hey, it's not gay to be gay for _that_ movie.

"How about you and I take a break and we leave them to their, uh, painting, huh?" Jared asks, smiling. "Then you can have some fun and we can worry about the roses later."

There's a long pause as Jensen looks Jared over, sizing him up. The situation's already fucked up enough as it is and yet when Jensen gives Jared the once over, he's nervous as hell. Not to mention the towering walls and twisting shapes of bushes around them, and how the sky is dark and not quite blue or black.

"Sure!" Jensen exclaims suddenly, face lighting up. He moves to put a hand on Jared's shoulder. "Wanna play croquet?"

The guards back off, and for a minute it's all normal again: Jared with his friend, both relaxed, feeling good. Just… surrounded by guards and weird talking animals carrying on their frantic painting. And a walrus that keeps roaring obscenities.

It's kind of okay. Almost.

*

Croquet is a fucking whole lot different than golf. Jared should know that. It's especially more different when the clubs are squawking flamingos and the balls are hedgehogs.

And he's playing in heels.

After Jared manages to wrangle his flamingo into a straight and stiff position—another metaphor, Jared registers in the back of his brain, way back and behind all the _you're playing croquet with Jensen in a skirt_ thoughts—he lowers his stance, trying to line up his shot.

Not that it matters when you're playing a game rigged to win for the… queen? King? Queen. The cards serving as loops move out of the way while Jensen shakes his head sadly, lips pulling into a very crappy but still attractive Blue Steel expression.

"Your technique blows," Jensen says brightly, long strides in his boots. Jared would love a pair of boots right now, but the dream makes up for it when it has Jensen grabbing Jared's shoulders, trying to straighten his posture. Pressing up very close against Jared's back and… right, Jared doesn't think there's anything under Jensen's skirt. At least, that's what Jared can tell with Jensen nearly rubbing against him as he re-aligns Jared's hips. "Let me help."

He rests a hand lightly on the small of Jared's back, right on the bow of Jared's dress. Jared feels soft and careful pressure of Jensen's fingertips, his lips against the curve of Jared's ear as he whispers.

"Aim left. He won't move for you."

Jensen hums in the back of his throat as the hedgehog ball darts toward the left, Jared barely able to stand—from the painful designer heels or Jensen's lips, he's not really sure.

*

The match ends with Jared winning by a large margin and a sore back, his straight posture more out of complete _nervousness_ over any technique recommendations from the Queen. Queen Jensen. It's so wrong that Jared's getting used to calling Jensen that.

Jensen inspects the rose bushes afterwards, murmuring that they're still not red enough.

When he turns to look at Jared, his face is flushed red, hair tousled as he runs a hand through it, frustrated.

This would be the perfect part for Jared to wake the fuck up, right now. Jensen's pissed and in this particular 'story', that's not good.

"Jared—"

"Yeah, I know it's all 'off with her head!' and the crazy psychedelic loop comes on and I pee my pants because that shit still freaks me out, okay—yeah, shut up, it fucking does. But I don't need to see that. It's been fun and all. But I gotta wake up. These heels are fucking killing me. And you're gonna kill me," Jared says with a nod. "Wake up, now."

"I _was_ gonna ask if you want to check out the mushroom I got out back," Jensen says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows, straightening the tiny crown on his head.

"Oh. Mushrooms?"

"One. One mushroom," Jensen says, holding his palm flat and making a circle. "Bed."

"Oh, _mushroom_. Okay, man. That's—That's great."

From somewhere in the garden, Chad crows, "That's right, oysters! Come to me, bitches!"

*

So the hookah's pretty fucking sweet. It's not tobacco at all, not with the way Jared's soaring and still grounded. Jensen is too, under Jared's hands, pliable and _sweet_ , like spun sugar and chocolate under Jared's tongue, licking right up the middle of his corset, tongue meeting skin between the laces. He bites laces sporadically with a promise of pulling the corset open to taste more skin. He grins, gaze lidded, feeling the faintest hint of sweat on his face and he doesn't care.

Jensen grabs Jared by the loose ribbons of his headband, pulling it loose and off, letting Jared's hair brush against Jensen's cheek as they kiss. His hand wraps wide around the back of Jared's neck as Jared slips a hand underneath Jensen's skirt, fingers skimming his thighs.

There's nothing else underneath. Awesome.

The hookah's really, really fucking sweet and Jensen's mouth is hot. There's a faint scrape of beard when Jensen pulls Jared's bottom lip into his mouth, sucking hard and Jared is _gone_ with just with that.

"Keep the pinafore on," Jensen whispers. That shouldn't be sexy but Jared moans when Jensen tugs at the sleeves, trying to keep the pinafore from coming off all at once.

*

"Pinafore?"

Jared had passed out in Jensen's room, right on top of a pile of laundry and a TV remote. His memories are fuzzy but he does remember rambling about how he didn't want to climb the "thousands of stairs" to his bedroom. Turns out that he must've been rambling in his sleep, too, because he wakes up and there's Jensen standing there in the doorway, having just stepped out of the shower.

Jared groans, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes.

"You think I'd look hot in a corset, huh?"

Jensen's wearing a towel and Jared's decision to pull it off probably is the catalyst, as soon enough, they fuck on top of Jensen's ridiculously smooth sheets. Jensen's still slick and shower-fresh while Jared's kind of a mess, still sleepily uncoordinated and aching from a bad slice of pizza. However, he's also naked and apparently Jensen appreciates being granted easy access to anywhere his hands and mouth can roam.

But Jared still blames it all on the anchovies.

_end_


End file.
